My Family
by E. Darkholme
Summary: A oneshot from the POV of Scorpius Malfoy. Just his take on his family, basically. A bit random, I'm so bad at summaries. Hopefully interesting: PLEASE READ AND REVIEW!


_All disclaimers apply _

_ Okay, this is really very random. Basically a oneshot monologue from Scorpius' POV. I wrote this one night when I could not sleep, shortly after finishing DH. Anyway, please review!!! Then my nocturnal attempts at fanfic would not be in vain! Just let me know what you think. _

**My Family**

People here look at me oddly. A mixture of fear, disgust and curiosity. I don't really understand why.

Okay, my dad isn't the noblest old boy Hogwarts has ever seen. But I've been here four years now. I'm not showing any tendencies towards Dark Arts. I've not opened the Chamber of Secrets, I don't cavort around in a mask proclaiming the Dark Lord's Manifesto of Evil, I don't even support what has been done in the past by the Malfoy family. I don't talk about it.

I know my dad's most famous for what happened in his last two years of school, well sixth year and the following year he spent at home. Though, from what I can gather, he was a pretty slimy specimen before that. I'm not even a Slytherin, I'm a Ravenclaw. I'm the new era of Malfoys, as it were. But they still look at me oddly, as if I have less right to be here than the others. And the Slytherins, those who are stupid and ignorant enough to try and make friends on the basis of what happened more than twenty years ago.

Okay, I am generalising. Not all of the Ravenclaws are so very unforgiving. I have friends, I'm not so pitiable as that. But those who don't know me, who know me only by sight and gossip despise me. Especially those with old Gryffindor parents. And not all of the Slytherins are necessarily Dark Arts Sympathetic. But a frightening number are. That really does bother me.

I sometimes wonder how they can blame him. You'd do anything to save your family. I certainly would. Despite my dad's shortcomings, he's different. I didn't even know him during his darker days, though he does sometimes speak about it: at night, when we are alone. He tells me about how afraid he was, about how he hates the coward he became.

Even Harry Potter and he are at a sort of allied state. Not friends, but they reached a sort of agreement. I don't know his children well, although they are in some of my classes. They're all Gryffindors. I sometimes wish I was different, and I could be properly proud of my family. Then I hate myself, and think that I can be proud. Were it not for my grandmother Cissy loving my dad so much, Harry Potter would have not been able to kill Voldemort. She is quite proud of this, I know. The one thing that mattered to her, among all that blood and blackness was whether Draco Malfoy was alive.

The thing about the Malfoys, something that became clearer as I got older, is that although blood is the utmost priority: family is a big deal. Alright, so my dad was led into a Death Eater way of life. He was named and shamed, but he didn't commit any truly horrific crimes. He didn't murder Dumbledore, he didn't

Grandfather is less easy to forgive. He fell from favour, and so was not given the opportunity to do as much bad. I get on with him, at a superficial level. But below the surface is that question. The question of what might have been. What he might have done, given half the chance.

But you can't think I'm heartless. I love my family, I do. My father feels remorse, my grandmother claims to never have done anything she is ashamed of other than to bring her Draco into all of the problems in the first place.

But Grandfather is disappointed in me. He doesn't like the way that I've turned out. He says nothing, not to me anyway, but it's all in his looks. He doesn't dislike me, I don't think but I get that cold trace of frustration. I'm Young Malfoy, but I don't act like it.

I look at myself in the mirror, and at old photographs of dad and even grandfather. We are practically identical: the pale skin, pointy features, white-blonde hair. The only difference is the expression. I cannot do the sneer that all Malfoys seem so adept at. And that, I think, is the embodiment of the difference between me and them.

Okay, I'm coming across arrogant and too self-assured. I am by no means perfect. I'm far too touchy, and prone to think the worst of people. I know that a lot of people had no choice in doing Voldemorts work. But because I know that the Malfoys did, at least in the beginning, it frightens me. They chose to do that, because of the stress laid upon purity of blood. Here, one of my best friends is what they would call a Mudblood. Another is a half-blood. In our lessons, we are taught about how wizards would have died out were it not for marrying Muggles. But they are so scathing, still are really. In that respect, they have not changed. They just no longer actively attack Muggle-born witches and wizards.

Rose Weasley is a half-blood, strictly speaking. It's a little hard for me to get my head around this, because I know that both her parents are magical. But apparently, it's still all about blood. I didn't understand for a long time. Would Rose have the same magical status to the child of a wizard or witch and a muggle? It's so ridiculous.

But (disputably) she's a half blood. She's quite clearly the best in our year, I say it freely, admiringly if I'm being totally honest. The title is apparently more widely acknowledged to be shared between us. We have a sort of friendly- ruthless competition, which I know is not just due to the longstanding hatred between my father and her mother. Pressure is one thing, but we both intend to work hard for ourselves, our own ambition being the utmost priority. And that's the way it should be.

But it doesn't really matter to me. Rosie is one of my good friends, and we sit next to each other in Potions (mainly out of mutual benefit) and share a table in Herbology. Family matters less.

I used to think, before I came to Hogwarts, that making my family proud mattered above all else, that's all I wanted and that's what would make me the perfect son. Such belief and such promise was laid upon me, I was told for years. I'm Scorpius Malfoy, named for my great-great-grandfather and part of one of the oldest pure-blood families in wizarding kind. The thing is, I've seen how it is not family that shapes us in this new age. It is the choices and actions we ourselves make. By asking the hat to not be in Slytherin, I broke a major tradition. But every day, I'm glad that I did. Even if there were reverberations. It's worth it. Mother was proud of me, father was too when he understood why. Grandmother Cissy is always proud of me, whatever I do. Her love is unconditional, and I love her for it. It's always been the same. She loved dad without requirements too. It's the best of her.

But still the persistent bother of Grandfather...

I hope that one day, family will mean more, but for the right reasons. Not for genetic heritage as such, the purity of blood etcetera. I hope that one day, my children will be proud of me. I've not done much, but I've began walking on the path towards tomorrow, away from the past. Even in avoiding the Slytherin house, breaking a family tradition, I made my stand and my feelings were perfectly clear. That I hope that I am thought a better person than my unworthier ancestors, who hid misdeeds and ugly thoughts behind smokescreen crests and viciously ignorant mottoes. Toujours pur? Not if I can help it...


End file.
